


holy war & holy need

by flowersforgraves, jude_writes



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Codependency, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Aid, Gen, Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Incest, Skin Hunger, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 05:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17933531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jude_writes/pseuds/jude_writes
Summary: A job goes much less south than expected. The twins fall asleep on the couch. All in all, a pretty average night.





	holy war & holy need

**Author's Note:**

> title from [ordinary world / duran duran](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FqIACCH20JU)

Their first-aid kit is a shitty little plastic box, hardly deserving of the name. They’ve got gauze and medical tape and not-enough thread to sew up any real cuts, a tube of antibacterial gel and anti-itch cream, a half-empty bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and a bottle full of painkiller. Murphy clenches his jaw as Connor carefully dabs peroxide onto his bloodied knuckles, accepting the twist and burn as penance for being a fucking idiot.

Connor finishes and reaches for gauze, wrapping Murph’s hands gently but firmly to protect the fresh wounds. He pauses, when he’s done, rubbing his thumb across Murph’s palm. His head is still down, and he’s very still, as if he’s waiting for Murphy to pull away.

He doesn’t. He sits there, and lets Connor hold his hand, because when Connor gets like this it’s hard to make him stop. Besides, it’s not like he’s using it anyway.

As Murph is bringing his free hand up to the back of Connor’s head, Connor leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Murph’s palm. Whatever he was about to say evaporates as Connor lingers there, chapped lips and beard stubble catching just a bit on the gauze. Instead, he cups the back of Connor’s head and neck, fingers curled enough to scratch at Connor’s hairline, and his twin drops his head forward, all the tension gone out.

Murphy has barely any time to register what’s happening before Connor has slid out of the chair and kneels on the floor, winding his arms around Murph’s waist. Murph lets it happen; Connor needs this, and if he’s being honest with himself, he could probably use it too. Usually, Murphy is the one on his knees for a very different kind of physicality, so having Connor so needy and vulnerable is a pleasant surprise.

Connor presses close, so Murph scoots closer to the edge of the chair, letting Connor lean into him. He runs his fingers through Connor’s hair, slow but firm strokes, and waits to hear a breathy, contented sigh before twisting Connor’s hair around his fingers.

Holding Connor by the hair isn’t an unusual thing. Murphy likes to get his hands in his brother’s hair when they’re making out, and Connor likes, or at least doesn’t mind, having his hair pulled. What is unusual, though, is the soft whimper Connor lets out when Murph tugs gently. 

He stops, careful not to pull Connor away from him. It’s -- nice, like this, with Connor between his legs and no sex on the docket. Murphy holds him, tight enough to feel secure, tacit permission for Connor to stay and take what he needs. 

They’d been fucking lucky tonight. By all rights they should be dead or seriously hurt, so it’s a bit of a jarring wake-up call for them to start planning more and rushing in headlong less. By God’s grace the worst of it was Murph’s bloody knuckles and Connor’s dislocated shoulder (fixed as soon as they got home, Connor biting into a dirty tee shirt to muffle the involuntary sounds of pain), and they’d be sore for days, but they’re alive and safe. Connor presses a kiss to Murph’s ribs through his shirt, hands curling into Murph’s clothes to hold on as if Murphy will slip away without grounding.

Murphy curls around Connor as much as he can, as if he’s trying to hold Connor with his entire body from that awkward angle. It puts strain on his back, but he tunes out the discomfort and just stays, focussing instead on the warmth of Connor’s breath and pressure of arms around him.

Connor disengages shortly thereafter, mumbling something unintelligible about “my fuckin’ knees hurt, we’re too young to have bad knees,” and Murph lets him go. He aches at the loss of contact, but he’s too proud to complain, and besides, he’s not about to make Connor stay on the floor if he’s actually uncomfortable. But Connor’s body language still screams need, so Murph catches Connor’s wrist as he stands up, and drags him over to the couch. 

His back is against the armrest, legs stretched out in front of him, and looks up at Connor with wide eyes. He knows full well that wordless begging like this is incredibly obvious, but it’s for something Connor doesn’t really want to withhold in the first place, and it’s been a long night. They both deserve a rest.

Connor huffs out a sigh, biting his lip to hide a smile, and flops on top of Murphy. He curls into Murphy’s chest immediately, one hand tucked between Murph and the couch, the other under his twin’s shirt resting on his hip. The contented sigh is almost involuntary, and Murph laughs a little at how predictable Connor is. That earns him a disgruntled snort and Connor’s chin digging into him, but it’s so fucking worth it.

Their breathing synchronizes quickly, as usual, and Connor shifts a bit so he can hear Murphy’s heartbeat. He arches up into Murph’s hands, which means he wants to be petted, so Murphy runs a hand up and down Connor’s spine, firm soothing strokes to keep Connor grounded.

He can tell immediately when Connor falls asleep. It’s nothing he could describe, it just feels different when Connor’s asleep on top of him. Murphy tangles his fingers in the hair at the back of Connor’s neck, and relaxes into the warm heaviness of his twin above him. It’s _safe_ , in a way he doesn’t understand, but it _is_ , the pressure of Connor’s body and the repetition of tracing letters on Connor’s back soothing him right to the edge of sleep.

As he’s about to drift off, Connor stirs. “So fuckin’ good,” he says, words slurred with sleep. “Love you, Murph. Fuckin’ love you.”

Murphy smiles against Connor’s hair. “You’re good,” he says, “love you too, Conn.” He wonders vaguely if he’d actually said it out loud or if he’d just thought it, but it doesn’t really matter. Connor knows, which is the important bit, and they’ve never been much on verbal assurances anyway.

The beds don’t get used tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> ffg: the reason I like BDS is because there are hot men, gratuitous swear words, gun violence, paladin vibes, and strong relationships between the protags  
> [several conversations between us about angst and hurt and darkfic]  
> ffg: -immediately proceeds to only post fics about these awful codependent bastards being soft and gentle with each other-  
> ffg: this is fine


End file.
